


the hazards of hylian crockery

by blacksandunderstars



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksandunderstars/pseuds/blacksandunderstars
Summary: . . . in which the author goes to very great lengths, some might even say ridiculously so, to make a truly dumb joke . . .





	the hazards of hylian crockery

“Greetings,” said the shopkeeper cheerfully. “Welcome to my shop. It’s always nice to see a new face in the village! Can I do anything for you?”

The newcomer was a pleasant looking fellow, well dressed, and with the slightly rotund figure of someone who ate rich foods on a regular basis. He looked about the shop with an appraising eye, then favored the shopkeeper with a good-natured smile. “This is an excellent establishment you have here!” His voice was deep and hearty. “Tell me, how’s business here?”

The shopkeeper returned the smile. “Can’t complain, can’t complain. Hateno might be out of the way, but we get a lot of traffic owing to the shrine nearby. May I ask why the interest?”

“Of course you may! Truth is, I’m in the market. I’ve been bit with the mercantile bug, you might say. I’m thinking I might want to set up a shop somewhere, and I’ve always heard nice things about Hateno.”

“I hope it lives up to the gossip.”

“Oh, quite, quite. Very pleasing, this little hamlet of yours. So tell me, if one were to make a reasonable offer, would you perhaps consider selling?”

The shopkeeper pursed his lips and tapped his chin. There weren’t many people coming through the village with the intention to buy property. He’d never really considered the possibility. He was rather fond of his shop, humble though it was. He took a lot of pride in the quality of the merchandise, especially the bombs, which hardly ever prematurely detonated these days.

But then he had been thinking about what life might be like in Tarrey Town. He’d seen some lovely men there on his last visit and gotten to wondering if it might be time to end his bachelor ways. Telling someone you owned a little shop in a backwards place like Hateno probably wouldn’t be much of a selling point, but if he could buy a place in Tarrey Town or even, if he dared dream, in Hyrule Village, well, surely that would be another matter entirely.

“I might,” said the shopkeeper eventually. “How large of a reasonable offer are we talking?”

The newcomer clapped his hands. “Excellent. I’ve taken the liberty of writing out my first offer.”

He handed the shopkeeper a note, on which was written, in a very fine and pleasingly delicate hand, a very large number—rather larger, in fact, than the shopkeeper had imagined would ever be possible. 

The shopkeeper choked briefly and had to cough to clear his suddenly dry throat. Visions of a very specific amount of future wealth danced in front of his eyes. “Ahem, that is a very good offer. Very . . . large.”

“Substantial enough, I hope, to forestall the usual bargaining phase of these things?”

“Oh yes,” said the shopkeeper, nodding vigorously. “I think we can safely call it forestalled.”

“Excellent!” boomed the newcomer. “And with that concluded, I shall have the funds delivered to you within the week. I trust we can sign over the deed and all that other rubbish then?”

The shopkeeper continued nodding.

“Good, good,” said the newcomer, and began nodding along with his new friend. “Now tell me, what’re the downsides of living here?”

After one or two more residual nods, the shopkeeper’s head finally stabilized. “Downsides?” he said, frowning.

“Indeed. There’s always some, everywhere. What’re the dangers around here, the jolly tricky bits, the sort of thing one should know about in advance. I’m sure there’s nothing serious, but it does a chap good to know what he’s getting into. Helps with the digestion and all that.”

The shopkeeper hesitated a moment. He could think of a couple things worth mentioning, although he suddenly felt the strongest desire not to say anything at all. Despite that, he managed, “Well, uh . . . There are the chickens.”

“The chickens?”

“Yes, you’ll be wanting to avoid them. Some bloke who came through a few weeks ago accidentally kicked one and, uh, it went . . . badly for him.”

“Badly?”

“Yes. I hear he’s doing fine now. He’s almost got the use of his legs back and everything.”

“Dear gods! Are the chickens around here of some special breed? Unusually large perhaps?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes swiveled back and forth. “Uh, no? They’re just regular chickens, I think.”

The newcomer raised an eyebrow. “Damned peculiar, but not much of a problem. It’s not like I’m in the habit of going around kicking chickens, eh?” He laughed jovially and nudged the shopkeeper with his elbow. “Would be a damned silly habit, eh?”

The shopkeeper nodded and smiled and hoped that would be the last question.

“So . . .” said the newcomer, dashing the shopkeeper’s hopes. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

The shopkeeper shifted uncomfortably. “Yes?” he said.

“Well, spit it out man!”

“Sometimes, there’s this little fellow,” said the shopkeeper reluctantly, taking off his hat and fiddling with the brim, “wears green, doesn’t talk much but likes shouting. He comes through and . . . well . . .”

“Uh huh . . .”

“He kind of goes through and smashes all your pots.”

The newcomer frowned. “What, really?”

“Yes,” said the shopkeeper miserably, twisting the brim of his hat.

“Whatever for?”

“I’ve no idea! He just does. It’s like a compulsion. Costs a fortune in new pots every time he comes through.”

“And how often is that?” said the newcomer, staring into the distance, his eyes narrowing in calculation.

“Oh, not often, thank the fairies. Maybe once a month. I hope this won’t change our arrangement?”

The newcomer looked up. “What? Oh, no, of course. Would be a damn silly reason, I think you’ll agree.”

“Haha,” laughed the shopkeeper, entirely without mirth. “Of course.”

He was beginning to suspect the newcomer didn’t entirely believe him about the chickens or the pot smashing kid. Oh well, he would learn soon enough. Preferably when the shopkeeper had all that money safely in the bank and was very, very far away.

The shopkeeper still had trouble sleeping at night, owing to the number of times he would wake up, nightshirt drenched with sweat, imagining he could hear that kid yelling “AYEAH!” and lifting a pot over his head.

Oh yes, he would learn.

~~~

Some weeks later . . .

Link sauntered into the shop. It was his favorite shop in Hateno, and he was glad to be back. For some reason the owner was really quick about restocking the pots. He’d made a whole thirty-five rupees last time he’d visited. And the bombs weren’t bad quality either; they hardly ever blew up early.

He stood in the middle of the floor, among the display cases. He eyed the nearest jar. He took a step towards it. Then just as he was about to take another, a loud voice boomed, “YOU!”

This wasn’t merely a raised voice. Anyone could yell, but this voice was truly monumental. One got the sense that while in principle it would be possible to whisper in that voice, in practice the people in neighboring buildings would probably still be able to hear it.

Link turned around slowly.

The man behind the counter was not the usual shopkeeper. He was a great deal larger, for one thing, and had cheerfully red cheeks. Currently he was looming over the countertop and glaring. His eyebrows were so bushy they made a single fuzzy indentation over his eyes.

“I was warned about you,” said the new shopkeeper, pointing one large finger at Link. “If you touch a single one of my pots, I’ll be very cross.”

They regarded one another. Link’s eyes narrowed. He took one very deliberate step in the direction of the closest pot.

“Don’t,” said the shopkeeper.

Link took another step. The pot was close enough to touch . . .

“Don’t you dare!”

With his eyes locked on the shopkeeper, Link gently laid hands on the smooth, glazed finish of the ceramic vessel. It was a pleasing shade of blue; the workmanship was very good—not at all like those crappy pots you found in most shops, where the opening at the top was all wobbly and you could see the fingerprints of the potter.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat in a very hostile manner and squared his extensive shoulders. “I feel compelled to warn you,” he said, his voice taking on a nasty quality, “about the contents of the crockery in this establishment.”

There was something about the tone of his voice which made Link pause.

“Oh yes,” the shopkeeper continued triumphantly. “You see, I’ve hidden several of the famous Hyrule chickens in my pots. And I’m sure you know of their particular . . . qualities.”

Link’s gaze dropped to the pot he was still grasping.

“One could be inside the very one you’re pawing at, and you’d never know until it was too late.” The shopkeeper leaned further over the counter, his lips curling into a malicious smile. “Tell me, how lucky do you feel today?”

Although Link had, in the hours leading up to this visit, been feeling rather good about the nature of the universe and his place in it, the shopkeeper’s warning was bringing to mind some less than wholesome memories which, in turn, were making his heart run a little faster.

Chickens . . .

Yes, he knew what they could do. He’d had experience. An experience, to be exact. One which he certainly never wanted to repeat. Just the mention of that fowl name, or that of Kakariko Village, was enough to take him right back there.

He didn’t want to think about that dark day, but he was, in fact, and to his considerable dismay, suddenly having trouble thinking of anything else.

The white feathers, exploding all around him. Those terrible snapping beaks. And the incessant, murderous clucking, like the siren song of the damned, if the damned were chickens and clucked a lot.

They wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t leave him alone, no matter how much he’d screamed.

He very carefully removed his suddenly sweaty hands from the pot.

The shopkeeper nodded. “There’s a good lad. Now, can I interest you in some of my other fine merchandise?” He indicated the display case on the wall behind him. “Some of these highest quality fire arrows perhaps? Only twenty rupees for a pack of ten. Guaranteed to brighten up your day!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd apologize, if I were sorry.


End file.
